Fight Milk

Two days in a row.

I’ve said that before, but I meant it with much more enthusiasm last time.

This time… the boy and I had a fight last night. What else is new.

It was the same type of moment, that I had with an ex (I mean my ex, the only one, but maybe I’m healing now and can simply refer to him as *an* ex, since it looks like there’s about to be another one) where he finally realized, and couldn’t hide from, the fact that there are other men in my life. Not really my life in the most direct sense, but yes.

I have to remember to drink my coffee while it’s still hot. I like hot coffee. Long pause, finally a sip. Trying to turn on the music, what is wrong with it?

I had dreams last night. I don’t really want to talk about them, but I should. Otherwise I’m just going to talk about about a stupid fight I had with the boy. He takes me so completely and utterly for granted.

Right on cue, I got a text message from a “friend” asking me to work on my birthday. I guess everyone takes me for granted. Half of me feels like I should just accept the fact that actually no one in the whole world cares for me like I care about them, and the other half of me feels like I should just tell them all to fuck off. And then the whole of me feels like these are not two mutually exclusive things, and I should definitely be doing both.

I missed a call from my boyfriend last night while I was adamantly not fucking the boy.

I dreamed about my boyfriend last night.

I showed up at my brother’s house. My boyfriend was there, apparently I had told him I was going and asked him to come up to meet me, but then I missed his phone calls and didn’t realize he was on his way up. My Mother was also there, and so my boyfriend had been hanging out with them for a day without me.

There are so many reasons why this is embarrassing. I could see it on my boyfriends face when I showed up that, Wow, this was not at *all* what he expected. My mother was acting in that terribly annoying way she does whenever there’s a man, or someone she views as more dominant, around, and my brother was just going back and forth to work.

The basement at my brother’s was actually an old Student Union from my second university, or maybe the vocational wing of my old highschool, or an amalgam1. My boyfriend was trying to help out with things around the house, my Mother gently ordering him around in that passive aggressive type of way. She had purchased a huge bag of mini dishwasher detergent bottles, and wanted us to hang them on a carousel display – was she running a store? I asked her, and she said no. I had my usual tense, somewhat frustrated tone on as I asked her then what, exactly, was she doing, and why did she buy these?

Fortunately, my brother wasn’t there to yell at me for questioning my mother.

I could see the same expression on my my boyfriend’s face, and the same tone from him, as he gently asked me, in front of my Mother who would not for fuck’s sake give us a moment alone no matter which end of the sprawling house we tried to go to, why I hadn’t answered his calls, and how all of this got confused. I remember the feeling I had – what on earth would make him think it was a good idea to show up at my family’s house without me, ever? Especially since it would be his first time meeting them, after declining every invitation for every year, it’s been years? Why now?

And so embarrassing, my family is fundamentally an embarrassment on every level, as I am to them I’m sure2

Going back down into the basement, I saw my funky friend, and several other people from our usual bar. Apparently there was a tunnel out of there to, among other things, my brother’s office. I’m not sure what everyone was doing there, but it seemed like working. My friend, as always, was in the middle of talking to someone, on his way to go somewhere3

Somewhere, things changed. I must have gotten horny in my sleep (embarrassing, but why not say it), and there were costumes, we were shooting porn. My boyfriend was gone, but there was the friend that just texted me about working on my birthday, and another mutual friend… plus a man we had worked for in the past. I can’t remember what the costumes were… were we Nintendo characters? That might be fun.

1. Again, remembering footnotes. One of my favorite songs is coming up, and I’m trying to hold out. Come to think of it, it’s one of the boy’s favorite songs too. Go fuck yourself. 2. I feel like the only person I would ever feel comfortable introducing to my family is my side dude, who understands that not everything is perfect all the time, and the truth is in how you tell it. That these people could also be the same people that I talk about, and not quite what one would expect when I talk about them. Someone who understands that perspective is a thing, and not a thing to be taken for granted like white people. 3. I remember meeting this friend – I remarked that I always saw him in the weirdest places, and he was the first person ever to say that the same could be said about me. I don’t know why that struck me as something at the time. Perhaps one of the first people who ever really had anything to say about me individually, and not just as a shadow to the white man carting me around. I can’t believe I almost fell into that trap again.

Well, there you have it, those are my dreams. An abbreviated night’s sleep, without melatonin, as I came in from my boyfriend’s house this morning and fell asleep in my own bed so that I could wake up and pretend that I was getting a fresh start, which is a lie.

I tried not to lie to him, I tried to be good.

But the truth is, they really don’t want to know.

One of my smartest, best, most twisted and perverted clients, speaking about his wife of so so many years, and how she turns a complete blind eye to all of his insane exploits. She really could say anything at any time. I should write him, I should have listened to him.

Well, fuck it, let’s look at the other side of the coin. Maybe I’m tired of being the only one who knows. Maybe, when someone wants me to be there for them, to understand them, it strikes me as just a little exploitative that they then turn and use that same mouth to tell me that they don’t want to hear me, that the whole thing is just too much for them.

I am too much for them.

But I already knew that.

Last night when we were fucking, the boy wouldn’t look at me. I remember when my ex started to do that. I’m not even mad. I feel like a kid who broke a cheap toy, not even my favorite one. I just don’t want to go through the hassle of opening up Tinder again.

I’m just wondering if I should go through the trouble of booking this romantic getaway vacation I was planning for the boy’s week off. I guess if things really go south I could always bring my actual boyfriend, or maybe write back the boy’s friend who apparently doesn’t have such a hard time mentally dealing with financial infidelity. <=== I for some reason still wouldn’t do that, even though I know that the boy is planning to do something comparable to me.

You are good at this game.

Me to the boy, during the last fight, amidst the mental gymnastics that I apparently put myself through to make sense. Make all this make sense, make this “relationship” make sense.

Finally, I’m calling my coffee done. It’s not but I don’t care anymore.

So you can touch type?

The boy, who apparently forgot that time has moved past 1988 and omg of course I fucking can. I can speak English too, you Darwinian dumbass. Fucking white boys.

That’s the last sip.

And yes, it was cold.

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